


Wait Until Night

by Death_13



Series: Bloody Tears [2]
Category: Castlevania, ドラキュラII: 呪いの封印 | Castlevania II: Simon's Quest, 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania (Video Game 1986), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Chains, Hand Jobs, I wasn't planning on writing about this ship again, M/M, Post-Game(s), Stubborn Simon, Vampire Bites, What if Dracula decided to let Simon live?, but here i am again, honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:14:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23246107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Death_13/pseuds/Death_13
Summary: He would have taken any kind of torture. He would have endured any insult, mockery even, anything but compassion and kindness. He was supposed to be dead, badly injured and thrown into a cell at the very least, suffering at the last moments he could breathe.Not in a comfortable chamber with a comfy bed and medicine for his wounds. Only with that the memory of his family and the weight of his defeat became heavier. Dracula's gaze ran up and down, pausing on his chest. It was strange for him to feel ashamed, to feel exposed.
Relationships: Simon Belmont/Dracula
Series: Bloody Tears [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1671436
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	Wait Until Night

**Author's Note:**

> All right, I think it's best to clarify why I'm writing this without giving a clear context.This, actually, would be part 3 of the series in which I have put this play and the other of this couple... At some point I will write part two of this "series", which clarifies the context that is narrated below.  
> Anyway, enjoy!

The castle was silent.

The hallways were deserted. The few surviving creatures of the night had not yet returned to the rubble of what had once been an impressive building. Nothing remained but stones piled upon one another, and all furniture, paintings, and decorations were either missing or reduced to a pile of rubbish. But the corridors of the rooms could still be distinguished from the collapsed areas, not yet reconstructed.

The sun had vanished completely, leaving the castle in complete darkness. It was a beautiful night, as long as one ignored the rubble and the rock fallout. Dracula walked slowly, carefully. No minions had crossed his path, nor was it possible, no one but him was allowed to be there.

He walked until he saw the door he was looking for. He took the golden key out of his pocket and turned the key in the lock. That lock was made to keep everybody out, or rather, to keep somebody in. Dracula chuckled and held his hand against the door frame, the wounds on his arm began to burn again. The lock glowed bright with a dark aura before he let the knob turn on its own, the magical symbols temporarily gone.

He went into the room, the interior as dark as the entire castle. He was used to it, he had always lived his long life among the shadows and darkness. The sunlight burned his skin, unlike the moonlight. Very human, he thought, for someone to like the sunlight, the sunrise. To feel the sun's rays on their skin.

With a simple wave of his hand, the door opened quietly. The decoration was very simple, a large bed took up most of the room. There were a few couches near the fireplace, where a few pieces of charcoal were still burning. The light from the burning wood lit up the only human in the room. In his hands there was a book opened in half.

Simon turned as he heard his footsteps. Always on guard, something every hunter used to do. He thought that made it more interesting. The chain around his neck hit one of the walls, the familiar metallic sound sounding as he moved. He recognized the tome, the cover was black with gold plant reliefs. The book was worn around the edges and the years had made the pages turn yellow and wrinkly. Even when he turned the pages the paper was still wrinkled.

"Black Magic" recognized, Simon stood up. He lifted his chin and raised his chest, he shut the book and put it under his arm. "Are you interested in things you can't control?"

"Not really," whispered Simon. " It' s simple curiosity. "

" But there are humans who can do magic" followed Dracula, Simon didn't seem interested. He was looking beyond the lord of the castle. He could feel it, the indifference in his eyes and the struggle in his wrinkled brow. "Sorcerers, witches, forge masters. Even some hunters. Some knew nothing beyond a few cheap tricks, beginner's magic. But they did know magic."

" I do not need magic, it has only brought trouble to my family and me" Simon left very little space between them. His feet remained firmly anchored to the ground, immobile. As if his pride would ever allow him to step back. "People hate magic. It's just another tool used to kill. Unpredictable and violent."

Dracula knew that tune, he can remember hearing it from someone younger, a child perhaps. Simon spoke softly, but confidently. His posture, firm, but the toughness in his words was betraying him. It sounded like a speech he'd been forced to memorize.

"Do you hate magic?" he asked calmly. Simon looked at him as if he had grown a second head.

"Only the one that stinks of evil magic"

"But I'm certain there are people in your family who can do magic, Belmont, even dark magic. I once had the pleasure of meeting someone very skilled with it." Dracula came a few steps closer, just enough for his arm to reach the cover hidden under Simon's arm. He was not surprised about the hunter's stoicism. "Can you do magic?"

“No”

"Would you like to learn it?"

“No”

“You don´t?”

"Not from you"

Dracula sighed as if the problem was Simon. He tugged at the book a little, only to meet resistance and the hunter's scowl.

"You're incredibly stubborn for a Belmont," there was no anger, no rage, but there was that twinge of annoyance. Rarely had he had the chance to meet a hunter without someone trying to drive a stake through his heart. Each and every one of them accepted the slightest advantage he could give them, from time to talk to them to offering them knowledge from his personal library. Whether or not they might later end up impaled on the castle gates, in full view of other visitors, was up to them. "I remind you that only magic can get you out of this chamber. As long as you refuse to accept my generosity you will remain locked up."

Simon just laughed, a dry, short, ironic laugh. He had a fake smile and a frowny brow. Dracula had never cared about how others could see him. Sure, some feared him, others adored him. But Simon looked at him with conviction, with a hard look.

"Generosity?" he whispered, the irony tinging his words "Generous would have been to kill me on that altar the moment you came back to life... the moment I brought you back to life..." Simon's shoulders went down for a moment, his eyes too. He soon recovered his composure " Not to let me live like this. I will never accept anything you offer me or what part of you you show me. Magic, power... I will never fall into the same trap again. Not from a monster like you."

The flames in the fireplace had almost gone out. The traces of light only marked the dark circles and tiredness on the hunter's face. Dracula wondered if it was because of the permanent darkness in the castle. The windows and curtains let in very little light, enough to know when the sun might or might not come out.

He lifted Simon by the chain around his neck. There was a choking sound, then nothing. His feet had been raised enough so that he only touched the ground on his tiptoes. That didn't prevent the stabbing pain between his ribs, the air coming out so suddenly that the feeling sent shivers down his spine.

"Sooner or later, Belmont," the voice came in as a whisper. "Someday you'll leave this room, as my lackey or as some food. I don't care what you think or what you do with it, I was generous to keep you alive and not break your neck when you failed at the only thing your family can do."

Simon wanted to fight back, kick back, do something. He'd fight tooth and nail to the end if it meant saving himself from the humiliation of the vampire. He swears inside, just breathing makes the pain in his ribs worse, and even moving his legs is a hell of a pain, the bandages also don't leave much room for movement. He could only stand there, his jaw clenched and his fists white, clutching the pale wrists.

"I wouldn't say anything stupid if I were you. I wouldn't want to break any bones and puncture something important" only to prove his point he touched the bandages that wrapped Simon's chest over his nightgown. With no protection or armor to hold his wounds, the bandages only covered him in case he could bleed again. That still didn't take away the fact the friction was a nuisance."That hard shell won't help you leave this room at all."

Simon let out a muffled grunt, his mouth was dry, moving was out of the equation. He forced himself to relax in the grip of his neck. Soon Dracula released him, the book fell hard to the ground, opening up in the middle. Simon tripped over his own feet, but stood up despite the pain in his chest.

Embarrassment haunted him, how could he humiliate him like that? He would have taken any kind of torture. He would have endured any insult, mockery even, anything but compassion and kindness. He was supposed to be dead, badly injured and thrown into a cell at the very least, suffering at the last moments he could breathe.

Not in a comfortable chamber with a comfy bed and medicine for his wounds. Only with that the memory of his family and the weight of his defeat became heavier. Dracula's gaze ran up and down, pausing on his chest. It was strange for him to feel ashamed, to feel exposed.

Dracula covered himself with his cloak before leaving through the only door in the room. He paused for a moment in the doorway before speaking. Black magic glowed on his wrist like a bracelet.

"I'll come back when you feel more rested." Simon resisted the urge to answer, the itch in his chest went down. "Good night, Simon."

The door closed behind Dracula. A dark aura glowed in the lock before it vanished completely. He did not bother to make sure the door was open. He knew it was not, Dracula had been so clever as to put a curse on the lock. His hand would burn only if he tried to turn the knob.

Simon bent down carefully to pick up the fallen book, picking up the page he had been reading. It spoke about dreams, hypnotic spells, which were capable of showing images and sounds in the dreams of the victims of the spell. He tried to find the trap, a way with which one could somehow manipulate and create false dreams, lies in dreams. However, the book did not give him any answers. That magic could not create illusions, only create reflections of other memories. It gave him a lot to think about and a terrible headache to read the whole page again.

….

Dracula was used to death. He understood the experience was akin to sleep. First there was the pain, then the total nothingness. He didn't need to think, he had become useless over the years. At least he had always had a friend on the other side every time he returned to the grave. Death was an old friend.

Too serious perhaps, but Dracula valued what Death told him, whether he liked it or not. That night Death spoke to him less than usual. He had been hunched over, holding the scythe between his two skeletal hands. It had been a brief moment in the hallway, when the moon was full and the castle was empty. Dracula guessed that his friend would be very busy that night.

And yet he found Death, patient and in no hurry to leave.

"The wheel of fate cannot be stopped, Lord Dracula. Sooner or later I must take someone with me." Any other creature in the castle would have had the vampire's claws around its neck, threatening to break its neck, if it had one. But Dracula knew better.

"Is there anything else I should know?" Death stood upright, his skull raised to the height of his master. It took him a while to respond.

"People don't like to be locked up" he tried to explain "I've seen how it tears them apart, the loneliness, the isolation, the torture, how they give themselves over to madness before taking their own lives."

Dracula half-closed his eyes, Death was still blocking the hall. The long nails on his hand grew smaller, but the tension remained in his arm, taunting him. The burns and bruises still hurt under his robe. Some, irregular, small fingernail marks that would heal in minutes, Dracula would not admit that he would prefer to keep them. Other marks were longer, made by a long weapon with a handle and chain capable of harming him, Dracula hated such scars.

"I have never liked to collect souls in torment" continued Death " The souls lose their essence, somehow. It makes them more sinister, macabre. They mock me, they think when I look for them it's a game. Many others are happy and others simply do nothing"

There is a slight pause, Death has always been very careful with words. Dracula gives him a moment to think about what he has to say.

"But hunters are not the same. They see me as something normal, at least most of them do. Rarely have I seen a hunter's soul corrupted, broken."

Dracula could feel the sting in his neck from curiosity, in part it was annoying. He avoided the urge to scratch the back of his head.

"You have had a second chance to return early, my lord. But remember, it is because of the Belmont that you have been able to return."

He chose not to think about it. Immortality hung on his shoulders, he had never had to worry about being revived. If no one was able to do so, perhaps time itself would bring him back to life. Many died or went mad trying, he no longer considered it, they were souls after all. Heaven had plenty of space for them if they could make it to heaven.

The very thought of it reminded him of an unreturned favor. It annoyed him.

"He's a human, I owe him nothing"

The hallway went silent. Death was not judging him, but Dracula could almost hear what his friend was thinking. Death bowed his head once in respect and held the scythe close to his body.

"Of course, Lord Dracula" Death stepped aside, letting his master pass. He saw him walk to the end of the corridor and up the stone stairs, where he lost sight of his master.

….

The mood felt heavy.

Dracula's hands stopped. One on Simon's chin, the long nails dangerously close to one of his eyes and his lips, touching but not causing harm. The other hand playing with the edge of the old brown trousers. Dracula remains like this for a moment. He can see the tension in the hunter's face, the struggle in his face. How he looks at him as if at any moment he could drive a stake through his ribs.

It's adorable, somehow. The chains on his wrists and ankles allow him to move little, just enough to make friction painful if he tries to resist. That doesn't stop Simon from squirming. Maybe he's trying to run away, maybe he's just looking for more contact or to start a fight. He doesn't worry about it. He knows Simon was used to pain, torture didn't work on him. He had seen him burn with his flames and resist a cut from his claws and still standing. He was too rough, but he resisted all the wounds of a fight to the end.

He could not stand the soft touch on his jaw, nor the slow time it took Dracula to admire the scars on his chest. One by one, his fingers ran up and down the scar tissue of the wounds. First the white ones, then the darkest, most recent ones. They were still sensitive, especially the burning marks. His arms wrestled with the restraints, without result, the fists became white from the effort.

Dracula forces his head to tilt just a little. He gets close enough for Simon to feel his lips near the curve of his neck. The fangs stick out and he lets them touch the skin on his neck. He can feel the pulse under the skin and the muscle, how the skin bristles and the neck tightens from the threat.

"It would be so much easier if you just relaxed," he mumbles. He smiles slightly as he hears the chains crashing again. His hand traces random patterns along Simon's body. With his nails scratching without breaking the skin, they leave small white marks over his body without being deep or disturbing. "Maybe it would hurt less."

"No, it would be much easier for you to fuck someone else if you think they are enjoying it" is a low growl, it is drowned out when a hand traces the curve between his hips and his waist.

The best thing is the confidence, the conviction with which Simon talks. He seems too confident, arrogant. No matter how many times he hits him, swears or humiliates him, Simon won't shut up. Someday he'd have to put his sharp tongue to good use.

"I'm not talking about physical pain" Simon's head turns just a little bit, the muscles in his neck tighten when the claws gently scratch one of his sides. There's a bruise that still hurts every time he breathes. There is a slight pain when the hand squeezes and the fingers sink between the ribs, causing a grunt of protest. "What would people say if they could see you now? I'm sure that when they saw the collapsed castle they filled you with glory, honor, jewelry, women perhaps..." he could see Simon's jaw tightly closed, his teeth clenched tightly "I can imagine it. Women fall easily for men like you.”

It was exciting to see how predictable Simon was. Normally it would be boring, like most of the nights he'd stare at the flames in the fireplace, looking for something. Dracula was sure, deep down, that this fighting spirit was something that defined him as Belmont, but at the same time set him apart from the rest of his relatives. His fingers pressed the purple mark again, using the tips of his claws to scratch from his underarm to one of his nipples. There was a snarl, then a whisper came barely out of Simon's lips.

"Strong, handsome, from a good family..." the nails carefully cut off the small pieces of fabric that were still stuck to Simon's chest. The cloth was minimal, just enough to prevent Simon, in one sudden movement, from making his ribs worse. Removing the remaining bandages reduced the pressure on his chest, although it was made worse by Dracula's weight "and yet naive and easy to trick".

"I'm going to kill you" whispered the chains again "I swear I'm going to kill you"

Dracula just chuckled, the threat fell away without value. He couldn't take Simon seriously. Not when, despite the grunts and resistance, there was a trail of color on his face, from his neck to his marked cheekbones. He could feel the heat rising in the curve of his neck. The body, though it seemed to resist, adapted easily to his touch. From the bristly skin to the way he squirmed, seeking or fleeing from his fingertips.

His finger turned once, twice, three times around the nipple. He feels it bristle and can't help but wonder how easy it would be to kill Simon in that state. No doubt Simon would fight, he wouldn't give up, his stubbornness would even become annoying. However, he could not stop his hand from closing around his pale neck or his claws from sinking deep into his skin, tearing.

Oh, how easy that would be. Giving him the break that Simon wanted so badly. But Simon had never known anything but fighting. His whole life dedicated to one purpose, training day after day without rest, sleep being the only pleasure he could afford. He could feel it under his fingers, his body twisting, the fight between discomfort and pleasure in his face. He could pass for a woman if he ignored his sharp jaw and toned muscles, the result of intense training.

His hand travels to the other nipple, slowly but steadily. Simon moves back and forth under it, this time Dracula leaves it. He releases his jaw and slowly descends through his abdomen, feeling each muscle tense under his fingers. Then he feels it, as Simon's legs twist in his lap. His hand stays close to the hunter's groin, never touching. He doesn't need it to notice the hardness in Simon's pants.

There's a moment of silence where even Simon stops moving. Dracula decides to look at Simon's face, he doesn't regret it. Red decorates his neck and face, the many scars, bruises and small cuts on his arms, torso and probably also his back and legs. Not now, but he is sure that if he counted the many bruises on Simon's body he would be surprised.

They definitely suited him. Much better than any marks his fangs could leave.

"No words?" the fingers skirted the trouser belt, playing with it a little before slowly lowering it, did not miss the embarrassed face of the man underneath him "No threats? I expected some kind of witty remark" left the question hanging in the air. One minute, no more, he waited, his trousers showing only his hip bone, before slowly dragging the garment to his ankles. Simon's thighs tightened around his waist, more from the cold than from embarrassment.

Simon wasn't looking at him. His head was tilted, almost hidden under one of his chained arms. Dracula laughed softly, he couldn't believe it. That Belmont, that man, the one who had managed to kill him not once, but almost twice, was hiding from him. A futile attempt, almost adorable. Trying to hide his red face with his arms and his hair, without much result. He must admit that his very light hair only accentuated the heat on his face.

Dracula grabbed him by the jaw and forced Simon to look at his face. It was almost useless, although his lips were only a few millimetres away, Simon was not able to hold his gaze. Something was not right, how he moved, that defensive posture, and worst of all, that sudden embarrassment. Of course, Simon would spit poison on him if he could or if he had learned some similar trick, but that shyness... was not normal.

He had seen it only a few times, that shame of being exposed, of being seen by another. The nerve of nudity... He had only seen it in high-class women, who were worth a great deal for many reasons. He didn't know if he liked the direction his deductions were taking. But he couldn't help it, not when Simon almost jumped up when he got rid of the cloth covering his erection.

"Are you a vi..."

"Shut up" was a loud cry. Simon clenched his teeth, wishing he had enough strength to pull off the chains that tied him to the bed.

Sweat ran down Simon's forehead. Whether it was from fear or his nervousness, he couldn't tell. It was cold in the room, it was night and there were no flames in the fireplace. He hadn't noticed it until now, when Dracula's hands stopped touching him.

His skin bristled when Dracula touched him, regardless of the hunter's discomfort. Simon groaned and Dracula smiled approvingly. He massaged the underside of his cock, wrapping his fingers firmly around the base, enough pressure to hear Simon moan. His gaze never left Simon's face, trying to memorize the small details of his tormented expression.

If Simon closed his eyes he'd be able to imagine himself with someone else. Someone with darker skin, without such sharp teeth, who wouldn't threaten to eat him alive every time he faced him. Still, this was too much, too intimate. He never had time to stop and throw himself into someone else's arms, to know what pleasure really was. No one had ever seen him so vulnerable, so naked in his life. I've never seen anyone look at him the way the vampire looked at him. As if he were studying him. As if he was trying to figure out which buttons to push next.

His skin burned under the touch of his pale hands, which continued to move. One turned to his chest and traced torturous patterns between his chest and his stomach. He completely forgets the state of his ribs when he feels a warmth in his chest, a pressure that almost makes him bend with the vampire's fingers caressing him slowly.

Dracula takes his time touching him, massaging his balls and tracing his circumference with his thumb. He leans over Simon's trembling body and his lips land on the curve of his neck. The fangs peek out just enough to land on the skin, feeling the pulse of the carotid artery.

"Relax," he whispers, Simon shakes underneath him as he speeds up his hand a little. The thighs tremble and try to close. Dracula easily pulls them apart with a push from his hip.

There is a gasp as Dracula sinks his fangs into his neck. The blood runs in small lines down his body, bent over trying to escape the vampire's grip. Dracula only increases the strength of his touch. He lets Simon grunt or groan, he doesn't care when he slowly relaxes and stops resisting. The sound of the chains stops being annoying.

The only thing he hears now are the little noises that Simon can't keep quiet. The moans almost seem more grunting, drowning out and accompanied by shorter breaths. But even with that, his hip tries to keep up with the strokes on his dick.

He continues the rhythm until Simon becomes putty in his arms and loses the strength to pull his bindings. He withdraws from his neck, the fang marks will leave their mark, that's for sure, but he only feels satisfied when Simon bends slightly in bed and pushes his hips one last time when he finishes with a low moan. Dracula lets go of the flabby limb and lets Simon collapse without any strength, his face relaxed but still red. Simon sleeps, and if it weren't for his slow breathing Dracula would swear that he had killed him.

He thinks about what Death told him a few days ago. He immediately shakes his head. This was not an ordinary human, whether Belmont or not, I was sure that this human would never fall into madness.

**Author's Note:**

> Also, yes, I have returned to playing Castlevania.


End file.
